Gemotions

The smell of freshly baked bread usually brought joy, but not today. The aroma wafted through her open window, a reminder of the things she no longer enjoyed. She watched, through the blinds, as the fluffy white dog sprinted across the lawn. The escape was like the feeling in her chest: a constant, unwelcome companion.

She reached for the phone, hesitating. She had let herself and the house go. She should call the owner. She had to. The thought of the interaction felt like an impossible task. It was like everything she did was a chore, a burden, a failure.

Her hand trembled as she pushed the button. The phone rang, then the cheerful voice of the neighbor. She mumbled an apology, a pathetic offering.

"I will come and get him," she heard. The neighbor's cheerful voice was a knife twisting in the wound in her heart.